About Me

By day, I perform strategic marketing duties for MorphoTrak (a subsidiary of Morpho, a subsidiary of Safran). By night, I manage the Empoprises blogging empire, as well as various virtual properties in Starfleet Commander and other games. Formerly known as Ontario Emperor (Ontario California, not Ontario Canada). LCMS Lutheran. Former member of Radio Shack Battery Club. Motorola Yellow Badge recipient. Top 10% of LinkedIn users.

Monday, September 29, 2014

(Yes, this is an instance in which you will find a story here that is not being reported by any other reputable publication. Hint, hint.)

The four gentlemen were sitting in a conference room at a hotel near O'Hare Airport, staring at a conference phone. A voice was speaking from the phone.

"Good evening, gentlemen," said the voice. "I'd like to thank you for coming here, although I'm certain that the $100 million paid to each of you had something to do with it."

("They got $100 million too?" mumbled one of the four.)

"As you have probably guessed, you have been asked to join together in a joint musical endeavor. Because of your high standings in the music industry, my supervisor believes that your joint endeavor will provide immense riches - I mean immense musical creativity - ah, who am I kidding? Immense riches." The voice laughed. "I need the four of you to decide upon a spokesman for the group, and then we can proceed."

There was the briefest of silences, and then the mumbler spoke up.

"The choice of a spokesman for the group is obviously a no-brainer," he stated. "With all deference to you old guys, I am the 21st century genius in this bunch. I have revolutionized all forms of entertainment, and my wife Kim isn't too shabby either. So, Charlie or whoever you are on the phone, Kanye will be the group spokesman."

An even briefer silence took place before the next person spoke. "Kanye, your work is so derivative," he said. "It's one thing to get a random video together, but you need to create a philosophy behind the video - one that is informed by current events. Now you may have spent your days watching your wife's sex tape, but I was there at Kent State, and my experience resulted in a philosophy that not only informed my band's successful audio output, but also its successful video output. Our video for 'Beautiful World' was the most revolutionary-"

Gerald Casale was interrupted in mid-sentence by the third man. "Revolutionary?" he exclaimed. "I invented video! Without my pioneering work in video, all of your flowerpot stuff would be nothing! And as for success, you guys were one hit wonders. I've had success on my own, I've had success with a band, I've had success with Linda Ronstadt, and I have more Liquid Paper than the rest of you combined!"

"Shut up, hat boy!" said the fourth man.

"You're a fine one to talk, surfer boy," replied the third man.

"Now you shut up, Nesmith. And you too, Casale. And especially you, West. All of you are wonderful in the studio with Auto Tune and everything else, but you haven't been performing live for fifty years like I have. Why? Because you're too scared. This supergroup is going to have to go out on tour at some point, and you won't be able to hack it. And as for the inventiveness that you all brag about, you haven't invented anything! I, Mike Love, invented surf music. I, Mike Love, invented car music. I, Mike Love, invented introspective music. I, Mike Love, invented Brian Wilson. And I, Mike Love, have continued to revolutionize music to this very day. In fact, Charlie, you don't need these other three! I, Mike Love, can be your supergroup! Who needs that Wilson dude? Who needs Al Jardine? Who needs what's-his-name who writes songs for Manilow?"

"Shut up, Mike!" yelled the voice on the speakerphone. "My boss says that all four of you will be in this group, and all four of you will be in this group! And if you know what's good for you, you won't quit. Just saying." He paused. "We'll table this discussion of group leader for a later time. Right now, I'd like to introduce you to your new manager and producer." There was a pause. "Gentlemen, meet Malcolm McLaren."

The room was quiet.

"I thought he was dead," said Gerald Casale.

A new voice emerged on the speaker. "But there are buffalo gals in HELL! And as for innovation, you pretenders..."

(Yes, this is an instance in which you will find a story here that is not being reported by any other reputable publication. Hint, hint.)

The four gentlemen were sitting in a conference room at a hotel near O'Hare Airport, staring at a conference phone. A voice was speaking from the phone.

"Good evening, gentlemen," said the voice. "I'd like to thank you for coming here, although I'm certain that the $100 million paid to each of you had something to do with it."

("They got $100 million too?" mumbled one of the four.)

"As you have probably guessed, you have been asked to join together in a joint musical endeavor. Because of your high standings in the music industry, my supervisor believes that your joint endeavor will provide immense riches - I mean immense musical creativity - ah, who am I kidding? Immense riches." The voice laughed. "I need the four of you to decide upon a spokesman for the group, and then we can proceed."

There was the briefest of silences, and then the mumbler spoke up.

"The choice of a spokesman for the group is obviously a no-brainer," he stated. "With all deference to you old guys, I am the 21st century genius in this bunch. I have revolutionized all forms of entertainment, and my wife Kim isn't too shabby either. So, Charlie or whoever you are on the phone, Kanye will be the group spokesman."

An even briefer silence took place before the next person spoke. "Kanye, your work is so derivative," he said. "It's one thing to get a random video together, but you need to create a philosophy behind the video - one that is informed by current events. Now you may have spent your days watching your wife's sex tape, but I was there at Kent State, and my experience resulted in a philosophy that not only informed my band's successful audio output, but also its successful video output. Our video for 'Beautiful World' was the most revolutionary-"

Gerald Casale was interrupted in mid-sentence by the third man. "Revolutionary?" he exclaimed. "I invented video! Without my pioneering work in video, all of your flowerpot stuff would be nothing! And as for success, you guys were one hit wonders. I've had success on my own, I've had success with a band, I've had success with Linda Ronstadt, and I have more Liquid Paper than the rest of you combined!"

"Shut up, hat boy!" said the fourth man.

"You're a fine one to talk, surfer boy," replied the third man.

"Now you shut up, Nesmith. And you too, Casale. And especially you, West. All of you are wonderful in the studio with Auto Tune and everything else, but you haven't been performing live for fifty years like I have. Why? Because you're too scared. This supergroup is going to have to go out on tour at some point, and you won't be able to hack it. And as for the inventiveness that you all brag about, you haven't invented anything! I, Mike Love, invented surf music. I, Mike Love, invented car music. I, Mike Love, invented introspective music. I, Mike Love, invented Brian Wilson. And I, Mike Love, have continued to revolutionize music to this very day. In fact, Charlie, you don't need these other three! I, Mike Love, can be your supergroup! Who needs that Wilson dude? Who needs Al Jardine? Who needs what's-his-name who writes songs for Manilow?"

"Shut up, Mike!" yelled the voice on the speakerphone. "My boss says that all four of you will be in this group, and all four of you will be in this group! And if you know what's good for you, you won't quit. Just saying." He paused. "We'll table this discussion of group leader for a later time. Right now, I'd like to introduce you to your new manager and producer." There was a pause. "Gentlemen, meet Malcolm McLaren."

The room was quiet.

"I thought he was dead," said Gerald Casale.

A new voice emerged on the speaker. "But there are buffalo gals in HELL! And as for innovation, you pretenders..."